


Dreams of Other Possibilities

by Aicnerys



Series: Warp, Mend, Warp, Repeat [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 09:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17805512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aicnerys/pseuds/Aicnerys
Summary: Melkor, waking from a nightmare about the Halls of Mandos, get comforted by Mairon.(Mairon tells Melkor of a dream.)





	Dreams of Other Possibilities

**Author's Note:**

> Mairon's dream in 100% inspired by Vampiric_Charms' series 'feeding the sheep is prohibited'. I thought it was precious and adorable and even though it won't fit exactly into my version of these two, nevertheless, I incorporated elements of it here, in Mairon's dream.

Mairon had no words to express his joy at Melkor’s return. After a long, long while, his lord was back. It was a great relief for Mairon, to have his lord return. He recalled Melkor being skilled and capable at managing Utumno. 

Yet when his lord returned, it had not been triumphant, but rather, that they’d had to come to his rescue, saving him from Ungoliant. And his hand, burned horrifically. It had taken Vaswe weeks to make that hand capable of movement and even longer to make it capable of fine movement, which only paled in comparison to the wreckage of the Vala’s mind. He required sleep now, and he demanded that Mairon be there with him when he did so. Although Mairon would have erred to the side of not warming his lord’s bed, what Melkor wanted, Melkor got.

Although Mairon was glad his lord was back, his return was messy, to say the least.

~~~

Mairon rubbed at his temples in a vain attempt to relieve the splitting headache he was experiencing as he attempted to impose order onto the hectic flurry of his lord’s return from Mandos. According to Vaswe, who was the head healer of Angband, Melkor was suffering from some form of catatonia. His lord had returned, yes, something which brought him joy, but he had returned wounded, his left hand burned and his mind not all there, as evidenced by the increasingly insane demands he had of Mairon. These demands left Mairon working late into the night, a mixed blessing, as it lessened the time spent in his lord’s bed but also increased the number of migraines he had.

And there was an army of Firstborn on his heels because Melkor had stolen some shiny rocks. While Mairon could appreciate a fine jewel as well as any Maia, the Silmarils were abhorrent to him in a way little else was. Even the loathsome sun and moon did not disturb him so. 

But Melkor, damned, mad fool that the Vala was persistent in being, pranced around with the stones on his head in what was once a very respectable diadem made by Mairon himself. He had tried to tell the Vala that the Silmarils were damaging, that he needed to spend some time away, perhaps in Mairon’s cabin, away from the insanity of Angband now that it’s lord had returned, but no, Mairon’s tactful suggestions only meant to help his lord were distorted by paranoia induced by those Eru-damned Silmarils.

Vaswe, in the shape of an albino cat, headbutted Mairon’s legs.

“Hello, Vaswe.” Mairon said, setting down the document of troop numbers he was trying to make sense of. Gothmog’s handwriting was a level of atrocious rivaled only by Melkor’s. Vaswe leapt onto the desk and flopped over on his side.

“Have you any pain relievers left? My head hurts something dreadful, and I’ve run out again.” Mairon admitted ruefully, petting Vaswe on the head. Vaswe was in charge of the healers at Angband, and he was sorely overworked trying to keep the troops in top condition and preventing Melkor from having yet another psychotic break (one Thangorodrim was enough for Mairon, thank you very much).

“Vaswe thinks ze has some left, however, the lieutenant’s constant requests worry this one.” Vaswe said. “Perhaps the lieutenant should delegate more. Vaswe has many competent servants, perhaps the lieutenant should delegate to ze.” 

“You, offering to do more work?” Mairon scoffed. “Vaswe, are you sure you’ve not fallen ill?” Vaswe nonchalantly pawed at Mairon’s work.

“Vaswe can be hardworking when ze chooses so.” Vaswe said, taking on an air of indignation. The offer of help was tempting.

“Alright. Just let me finish this one last thing, and then I’ll retire for the night and delegate to you for a while.” Mairon said, slumping forward. 

~~~

Mairon slipped into Melkor’s chambers quietly, hoping to avoid Melkor’s attention, but the Vala noticed.

“Where were you?” Melkor asked, eyes squeezed shut. Mairon began undressing for bed, neatly folding his robes and placing them on the armoire.

“Working, my lord.” Mairon said, getting into bed and laying a fair distance away from Melkor, on his side and facing away from the Vala. “After all, your most recent requests are trying, and I’ve spent many long hours in discussion with other commanders over how to enact them.”

After that, Mairon simply lay on his side and listened to the sound of Melkor breathing, thoughts running a mile a minute trying to parse what needed to be done tomorrow. He sighed, and let himself sleep as well.

~~~

When he awoke, Mairon wasn’t quite sure why. The room was still dark, the sun not yet risen, but something unknown irked him.

He rolled onto his side, facing Melkor, on a whim, to be met with the face of his lord contorted in agony, in pain. Melkor was curled in on himself, and, without the light of the the Silmarils distorting the Vala, Mairon could see the agony etched into his lord’s face.

“My lord?” Mairon asked. “Are you alright?” Melkor’s eyes snapped open, and he made a furtive motion, pulling into himself, hands clutching his head. Mairon reached out a hand to him hesitantly. Melkor flinched at the merest ghosting of Mairon’s fingers over the back of his hands. 

Mairon frowned, and placed his hands on top of Melkor’s, moving closer to him. Melkor’s eyes flicked up briefly to meet Mairon’s.

“This is just another one of your dreams, Irmo.” Melkor hissed. Mairon carefully moved his hands to thread through Melkor’s hair.

“No, my lord. It is me, Mairon, your lieutenant.” Mairon responded gently. Melkor shook his head. 

“That isn’t true.” Melkor said with panicked conviction. “It can’t be true. This is just another elaborate fantasy to have me betray everything I worked for!”

“My lord, what could I do to prove my sincerity to you?” Mairon asked. Melkor frantically shook his head, making Mairon remove his fingers from his hair lest it become tangled and instead shift to moving his hands in long, soothing strokes on Melkor’s back.

“Why did you make that cabin?” Melkor asked. Mairon smiled at that. There were many reasons he had made that cabin with the waterfall forge.

“I suppose one reason was at first, I didn’t particularly wish to stay in Angband or Utumno all the time. I was, in essence, a space for myself.” Mairon began. “And truthfully, I wanted a private space that was mine, without anyone else intruding on it. 

“But I also was, and still am, possessing of that spark or light, almost, of Valinor, and making a place like that made me able to set that part of me aside. And although I serve you now, you and Aule are similar, and if what made me who I was was cleaved away, and if I were taken back to Valinor in such a state, I would be able to serve Aule.”

At that, Melkor tensed.

“Please don’t leave me, Mairon.” Melkor said, seeming almost to beg. Mairon pulled him closer, allowing Melkor to curl into him.

“I will never, my lord.” Mairon said. Melkor was shaking, was vulnerable, was compromised. Normally, Mairon was the one being comforted. Melkor was not good at seeking permission, after all. But after being imprisoned in the Halls of Mandos, Melkor had seemed wild, acting compulsively, without rhyme or reason in some kind of manic state.

“Tell me something beautiful, Mairon.” Melkor whispered. Mairon thought for a moment, before his cabin reminded him of something else he had been thinking about in an on and off manner.

“I sometimes like to daydream about a world where we quit being dark lords of Arda, and go off somewhere, perhaps to my cabin, and simply be.” Mairon confessed. “You have raped me, yes, but you show some measure of contrition, and part of my dream is that you learn to ask rather than to just take, because if you ask, I would give.

“And I dreamed of us, simply us, being simply us, existing and making things, without the weight of defiance bearing down upon us. Us, simply enjoying Arda.

“And I’m sure that Gothmog and Thuringwethil would go gallivanting off on adventures, because that is something I think would fascinate them. Gothmog has oft expressed to me a curiosity of the world beyond the fortress, the world we seek to conquer, and Thuringwethil’s glimpses of it have not yet begun to sate her appetite for adventure.

“And the Orcs, cannon fodder though they may be at this moment, have so much potential. I wonder what sort of culture they would develop? Right now, all they are allowed to be is evil, but what is evil anyway? I think that the Orcs, free from the constraints of the necessity of troops for Angband, could become a people in their own right, with a culture to rival, nay, surpass that of the piddling First and Secondborn because they would be able to draw upon more than just Eru’s plans, I hope.

“I think that all I have just detailed is a very beautiful dream, my lord. And I am glad to share it with you.”

“I…” Melkor begand, unsure of himself but trying to find the words to express the desire he had upon hearing Mairon’s musing, but he tried anyway. “I want to make that happen.”

“Please, make it happen, Mairon.” Melkor pleaded. Mairon smiled, and nodded.

“It won’t be easy, my lord. You’d have to abandon the Silmarils.” Mairon said. Melkor nodded.

“It’s always easier without them, but everyone expects me to have them.” Melkor said.

“We’ll start there, then. Fighting back the madness the Silmarils inspire will be our first step towards that dream.” Mairon said, resolute. In his embrace, Melkor was equally resolved.

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of feel that Melkor was low-key driven insane by the Silmarils. Why would someone so obsessed with creation covet the works of another so? Although the Silmarils are certainly wondrous, I think that his obsession with them, at least, in my headcanon, is form of insanity, furthered by his isolation and nightmares within the Halls of Mandos and his own inability to create at this point.


End file.
